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“Imprisoned.”
Not long after I made the deal with Waylon Wildwood, myself and the other dark fae involved in these bargains were caught. The practice of tricking and stealing humans was—still is—considered highly illegal in my original homeland. A magical place called Valora.
As punishment for our crimes, my cohorts and I were banished to the Lost Land, an alternate universe. It’s a barren hell where time doesn’t exist, where we would be subjected to unending suffering.
In the Lost Land, there is no beginning and no end. No death and no life. No sunlight, no color, and no food or water.
And no magic, thanks to the Valonite sent with us. In the presence of that mystical gem, faerie magic is suppressed. To ensure that all our bargains would be suspended in our absence, a giant load of it was blasted into the Lost Land, sealing us in and making it impossible for us to escape or use our special abilities to improve our lives to any degree.
Honestly, I would’ve preferred execution, but the rulers of Valora wanted something worse for us. They guaranteed our misery while making sure we couldn’t hurt anyone ever again.
They never thought someone would come to save us.
They were wrong, and nearly three decades ago, we were freed.
When that happened, the bargains that had been paused reactivated. The timing of the event lines up with when Hannah became symptomatic, since one year in Valora equals one day on Earth.
“As you said, you’re past your prime,” I elaborate for Bobby. “Normally the sickness would happen to someone much younger than even Hannah. If she’d had a child, it probably would’ve landed on the babe.”
“What does age have to do with it?”
“Several reasons. It’s less suspicious that way. Babies die of unknown causes all the time. At least, they did many years ago before medicine was so readily available. Sometimes it’s easier for a family to accept the death of an infant before they become too attached. Plus, it’s better if they come to us when they’re young. That way, we can raise them up the way we want. Integrate them into our society.”
“Changelings,” Bobby rasps. “My grandpa studied the legends a lot, about people who would bring their dying baby to the forest to be taken by the fae. How they actually thought they were exchanging their child, so they could imagine their kid growing up in a magical world instead of rotting in the ground.”
“As myths and legends usually do, details get lost and skewed over the years. But yes. That belief was based on a shred of truth. The dark fae have been collecting people from the Earth realm for ages.” I pause to let him absorb everything, then I drill the point home. “Hannah’s illness is not of this world. There is no cure. She cannot be fixed. She will die, and when she does, I’ll take her to my realm.”
“What happens then?”
“My master, Vaeront, is a wizard with the power of necromancy.”
“What’s necromancy?”
“He can raise the dead.”
Bobby’s eyes brighten with a spark of relief. “He’ll bring Hannah back?”
“Yes.”
“And she’ll be better?”
“She will be cured, yes.”
“Then you can bring her home to me.”
“I cannot.”
His face falls. “Why?”
“After the deal is complete, Vaeront will own Hannah’s soul, just as he owns mine.”
“You can’t just own someone like that,” Bobby claims passionately, his voice deep and gutteral. His disbelief, which had quickly turned to grief just moments ago, has now morphed into anger. “Stealing people is wrong on every level.”
“It’s not stealing if there’s an agreement.”
“Well, I didn’t agree to this. Hannah didn’t.”
“But Waylon did. The moment he said yes, the bargain was unbreakable. It might be hard for you to understand because magic doesn’t exist here, but where I come from, magic is the most powerful force there is. Not even love can interfere with it. Magic isn’t malleable. It does not bend to someone’s desperate requests after a promise is bound.”
